It's only words, I keep telling myself. I'm having fun pushing myself to be a bit silly and exercise creative brain cells and muscles through prompts in Wreck This Journal I didn't know I even have because my sense of propriety has so buried them. But aren't creative souls hyper-sensitive to the influences of all things in both visual and verbal imagery? What doesn't inspire us doesn't mean it doesn't influence us.
There are aspects of the verbiage used re: Wreck This Journal from the very outset that are troubling and disturbing to me beginning with the subtitle 'to create is to destroy'. I keep questioning whether it's timing and had I not been reeling with sadness over news of recent and current events: the Air France wreckage, the murder of a provider of abortions in his church and a military recruiter at work, followed this week by another shooting/murder on what to many is the hallowed ground of the Holocaust museum in DC by an elderly white supremacist and further afield, the suicide bombing of a hotel in Pakistan - would these words like destroy and wrecking not make me cringe as they do now? I don't think I'm alone in my sensitivity as some have gone so far to have written about feeling something akin to abusive as they imagine their journal's looking back at them with sad, wet eyes as if to say "What'd I DO (to be so mistreated)?"
And then there's the waste - no fewer than 10 pages and I think possibly about another half dozen tell us to wad them up and throw them out or run them through the laundry or burn them or similarly irretrievable acts. Someone yesterday wrote about the money they felt they'd wasted on a gimmick similar to a pet rock back in the day. I kind of have to agree with the sentiment in that 10% off the book price ought to be available as a rebate for what you end up throwing away. I want something to show for the effort I put in - the thought of giving away my favorite page is gut wrenching. (I'm thinking of those beautifully rendered fruits on a fruit sticker page - sigh)
The food stuff is especially ridiculous in summer anywhere I imagine, but particularly in the southwest. I can just imagine with the 'carry it everywhere' practice, having to explain ants in desk drawers/lockers at work or having to use the book to swat away flies at the park or even in one's own backyard and god forbid mice come foraging in the dark while you're sleeping with the journal or how to explain the smell to your partner if you don't sleep alone. And speaking of partners, why all of a sudden your creative space is the smelliest spot in the house?
Already the applause and praise heaped upon one another for spectacularly aggressive wreckage reminds me of school kids cheering while one child kicks another's butt on the playground. Or college kids chanting "Drink! Drink! DRINK! DRINK!" at a beer party. I'm having doubts as to whether I ought to be at this party.
PS- I put this on the page for negative comments in my journal and did my page of 4 letter words this morning (250+ words)